Until the End of Time: Request
by Marauders4EVR
Summary: A brilliant request from an Anonymous message on tumblr. It's been one year since the Doctor left the Holmes brothers and they are positively miserable. To make matters worse, Mr. Holmes has started dating a horrid woman. As she moves into their house, they are left to dream about their home - their real home - the one that's bigger on the inside.


Until the End of Time: A Brilliant Request

Author's Note: A few weeks ago, I got a request on tumblr:

_Could you make something where Mr. Holmes wants to get remarried to a horrible woman just like him and the Doctor, Mycroft, and Sherlock try to stop him because they know how important Mrs. Holmes was? I love all of your stories by the way!_

And here it is! I was really touched to receive such a brilliant request. If anybody ever has anything that they want me to write, it would be an honor to do so.

"You're wrong!"

"I'm not wrong," Mycroft gently said, "The nanny killed him with the pipe in the parlor."

"Wrong!" Sherlock burst out.

Mycroft sighed and asked, "Then how did he die?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock excitedly asked, "He killed himself."

Mycroft stared at his nine-year-old brother before spluttering, "What?"

"He killed himself," Sherlock repeated, "Albeit with the pipe in the parlor."

"Okay," Mycroft slowly said, "Err…that's enough Cluedo."

"Do I win?" Sherlock excitedly asked.

"Yeah…" Mycroft begrudgingly said, "You win, Sherlock."

The youngest Holmes brother puffed out his chest.

"Sherlock! Mycroft!"

Both brothers winced at their father's shout.

"Come down here," Mr. Holmes barked.

"Yes, Father," Mycroft obediently cried.

Sherlock sighed and refused to move.

"Come along," Mycroft sighed.

"Must we?" Sherlock pressed.

"Sherlock…"

Sherlock miserably threw the game aside and scrambled to his feet. The brothers descended the stairs and realized that their father was impatiently standing at the bottom.

"I am going out," Mr. Holmes curtly said, "Mycroft, see that your brother doesn't get into trouble. And I want this house to remain spotless. I shall be bringing a friend home."

"A friend?" Sherlock curiously asked.

"Yes," Mr. Holmes promptly replied, "A woman."

Mycroft and Sherlock quickly exchanged glances and Mr. Holmes continued, "I want you to meet her. Best impressions. Perhaps you should wear a tie…"

"Perhaps we should wear a bowtie," Sherlock haughtily muttered.

"That's enough of that."

"Bowties are cool!" Sherlock cried, ignoring a nudge from his brother.

"Enough! So help me, if I hear the words 'the Doctor' at this meeting…"

Sherlock opened his mouth but Mycroft stomped on his foot.

"Yes, sir," Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

Mr. Holmes swiftly walked out, slamming the door behind him.

"Since when does Father bring women home?" Sherlock curiously asked.

Mycroft suddenly snickered and Sherlock defensively added, "What?"

"Nothing," Mycroft wryly remarked, "It's just…Jack would have several comments."

"Jack would flirt the woman," Sherlock chuckled.

Mycroft snorted and added, "Jack would flirt with Father."

"He would not!" Sherlock cried before adding, "Father's not his type."

The two chuckled.

"Alright," Mycroft hastily said, "It's not nice to talk about Father behind his back."

"Yeah," Sherlock agreed, "Unfortunately, he tends to get angry when we talk about him in front of him."

Mycroft smirked at the sarcastic remark and said, "Come on. Help me clean."

"Umm…" Sherlock pretended to think about it before saying, "No."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and proceeded to clean the house. He had just managed to dust the mantel when something prodded him in the back. He angrily turned and realized that the object in question was the tip of a wooden sword.

"Engard!" Sherlock growled.

"No," Mycroft sternly said, "No pirates."

"We haven't played pirates in ages," Sherlock whined.

Mycroft didn't answer and stubbornly stared at the fireplace.

Sherlock poked him again.

"Sherlock," Mycroft warningly said, "Knock it off."

Another poke and Mycroft growled, "Stabbing your captain? This be mutiny!"

Sherlock smiled as Mycroft grabbed the broom and swung. The two fought for several minutes before Sherlock tripped over the rug.

Mycroft went to catch him but the youngest Holmes brother ended up hitting the decorative plant. It tipped over, spilling dirt onto the spotless floor.

The brothers paused and Sherlock growled, "And this be your fault."

"Don't you dare," Mycroft cried, grabbing his elbow, "Help me clean this up."

"Do I have to?" Sherlock sighed, just as the front door opened.

Mr. Holmes walked in with a sour-looking woman. She couldn't have been more than a decade older than Mycroft. She would have been beautiful, with brown curls and matching eyes. Unfortunately, her face seemed to be pulled into a permanent scowl.

"Father," Mycroft weakly said, "You're home already."

"Hullo," Sherlock lamely added, "Err…this vase has always been like that."

"What the ruddy hell did you two do?" Mr. Holmes barked.

"We were…cleaning," Mycroft lied, "And we…bumped into it."

"What is that wooden sword doing out here?" Mr. Holmes heatedly asked, "You were playing around, weren't you?"

"We're really sorry," Mycroft hastily apologized.

"I'm not," Sherlock muttered.

Mr. Holmes was tight-lipped as he said, "Mycroft, Sherlock…this is Lucy."

Lucy glanced at Mr. Holmes and said, "You told me that your sons were extremely mature for their ages. I didn't expect them to be playing…pirates."

"Well, Mycroft's a captain," Sherlock sassily replied, "That's a lot of responsibility."

"Sherlock," Mycroft warningly hissed.

Sherlock sighed and muttered, "Sorry. It's very nice to meet you."

"Mm," Lucy remarked, "Well…"

"Well," Sherlock repeated.

"Well," Mycroft awkwardly said.

"Alright," Sherlock cried, "Good talk!"

"Don't be rude," Mycroft reprimanded.

"I tried to be polite," Sherlock quietly said, "It didn't work."

"Get this cleaned up," Mr. Holmes ordered, "And meet us in the parlor for tea."

"Of course, Father," Sherlock said, in a falsely sweet tone, "Anything you say, Father."

() () ()

A quarter of an hour later, Sherlock's head was drooping against Mycroft's shoulder.

"Sherlock," Mycroft whispered, "Wake up."

"What?" Sherlock sleepily asked before muttering, "Bored."

"Behave," Mycroft hissed before answering Lucy's question, "I'm sixteen and he's nine."

"How old are you?" Sherlock asked with a smirk.

"Be_have_!" Mycroft hissed.

"You behave."

"I _am_ behaving. You behave."

"You."

"You."

"You!"

"I asked you first."

"I asked you second."

Mr. Holmes intervened, "Lucy, why don't you tell them about yourself?"

"Wait, I've got this," Sherlock brightly said. He brought the tips of his fingers together and said, "She works as a temp. Well, that's boring. But wait…hmm…_that's_ interesting."

"Sherlock, don't," Mycroft interjected, already seeing it.

"Serial adulterer," Sherlock burst out.

Mr. Holmes spat out his tea and Lucy cried, "What!?"

"It's visibly obvious," Sherlock shrugged before continuing, "What else? Let's see…you've been married three times. Judging by the lighter patch of skin on your otherwise tan finger, it's safe to assume that your last marriage was fairly recent. You're a vegetarian. You use an electric toothbrush. You were born in May…no…June. 1964. You get your hair done twice a week at a prestigious salon. You get your nails done every two weeks at the same salon. Your clothes are very stylish. Your dress is new but your heels are old. Yes, first impressions do tend to help, don't they? And your purse…ah…your purse is from Bermuda. Judging by the wear and tear, I'd say that you purchased it three months ago, during your honeymoon with your third-husband whom you've recently divorced."

"Alright, Sherlock," Mycroft intervened, "That's good enough."

Sherlock looked quite proud of himself.

Lucy rolled her eyes and muttered, "I never liked children."

"That's alright," Sherlock smoothly said, "I never liked adults."

Mycroft nudged him and Lucy's eyes narrowed.

"Err…Bermuda," Mycroft lamely said, trying to change the subject, "That's nice."

"Yes," Lucy coolly said, "It was very nice. Have you ever left the country?"

Sherlock smirked and said, "We've left the planet."

"Sherlock," Mr. Holmes barked, "That's quite enough."

"Don't push it," Mycroft agreed.

"In a blue police box," Sherlock continued, ignoring them.

"Sherlock Holmes," Mr. Holmes hissed, "I forbade you to…"

"You forbade me to say two words," Sherlock haughtily remarked, "Two simple, little, words. But there are plenty of other words that I can say."

Mycroft swallowed, not liking where this was going.

Sherlock took a deep breath and wickedly cried, "Time Lord, Daleks, Weeping Angels, Cybermen, Professor River Song, Captain Jack Harkness, Tardis…"

"That's enough!" Mr. Holmes roared, "Bed! NOW!"

"Finally," Sherlock sighed with relief.

Mycroft followed him into the nursery and muttered, "That wasn't funny, Sherlock."

"Yes it was," Sherlock said, smirking, "And you know it."

The brothers stared at one another, expressionless, before Mycroft reluctantly cracked a smile. Sherlock arrogantly smirked and Mycroft mumbled, "Alright, it was. And your deductions were quite impressive. Except for one thing."

"What?"

"The tan-line wasn't from a wedding ring," Mycroft cheerfully said, "It was from a widow's ring."

Sherlock's eyes widened with excitement and he whispered, "Really?"

"Yep."

"Very interesting."

They flinched as Mr. Holmes stomped in and growled, "Sherlock Holmes! You are grounded for a week!"

"I didn't break any rules," Sherlock argued.

"Do you want to make it two weeks?"

"But I didn't!"

"Two weeks it is," Mr. Holmes triumphantly said, "Try for three?"

"Father," Mycroft hastily intervened, "We're really sorry."

He merely grunted.

Mycroft hesitated and asked, "If you don't mind me asking, sir, why is Lucy…here?"

"Well," Mr. Holmes said, adjusting his tie, "We've been dating each other for quite some time. I didn't want to tell you because…well…I knew that the two of you would do something to…interfere. But…seeing as how it's going to happen…"

Mycroft and Sherlock glanced at one another.

"Lucy's going to move in with us," Mr. Holmes frankly said.

Their jaws dropped with horror.

"W…what?" Mycroft whispered.

"She's moving in," Mr. Holmes repeated.

"She can't move in!" Sherlock burst out, "She's…horrid!"

"She really is, Father," Mycroft hastily said, "Can't we talk about this?"

"The decision is final," Mr. Holmes curtly replied, "And it is not yours to make."

"But…"

"But…"

"No 'buts'," Mr. Holmes ordered, "Go to bed."

"Father wait!" Mycroft burst out, "She can't just move in."

"We won't allow it," Sherlock promptly added.

Mr. Holmes raised his eyebrows and coldly repeated, "You won't allow it?"

"No, we won't," Sherlock snapped, "She's not moving in."

Three days later, Sherlock sadly said, "I can't believe that she's moving in."

Mycroft put his arm around his brother's shoulders. Sherlock glumly shied away and watched as Mr. Holmes carried the rest of Lucy's luggage into the house.

The dinner was cold and distant. The brothers picked at the disgusting casserole in complete silence, barely glancing at one another.

"Delicious," Mr. Holmes boomed, "Yes, it will be quite a change to have a woman's touch back in this house. Very good…"

"Yes," Sherlock wryly remarked, "A woman's touch…touching…touching my things…_don't go into my nursery_!"

Mycroft nearly choked at his brother's abrupt shriek.

"Don't worry," Lucy slowly said, "I won't."

Sherlock still looked suspicious as he childishly mumbled, "They're my toys. You can't play with them. They're mine. You're not allowed."

Mycroft wasn't sure whether his brother was being serious or not.

"I have no intentions of playing with your toys," Lucy coolly replied, "I never liked playing with toys, even when I was your age."

"You and Father are a match made in heaven," Mycroft muttered.

"What was that?" Mr. Holmes barked.

"Nothing, sir," Mycroft innocently said.

"I've been trying to get rid of his toys," Mr. Holmes assured Lucy, "Though he's been as stubborn as a bloody mule."

Sherlock mumbled something that sounded vaguely like, "Rather be a mule than an arse."

"I think that it's time for bed," Mr. Holmes growled.

Sherlock gave a start and cried, "It's 6:30!"

"Then play with your _toys_ until you're tired," Mr. Holmes said with a sneer.

"And miss the rest of this delicious casserole?" Sherlock haughtily said.

"Go!"

Mycroft anxiously followed Sherlock to the nursery and watched as his younger brother heatedly paced the room.

"Sherlock," Mycroft weakly said, "Oi…Sherlock…stop. It's alright!"

"How could he do this?" Sherlock asked, "How could she move in? How could he date someone like her? How could he do this to us? How? HOW? Mycroft!"

Mycroft waited in the doorway, miserably watching as Sherlock continued to pace. He ended up tiring himself out and eventually sat on the bed. Only then did Mycroft cross the room and put his arm around his brother's shoulders.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mycroft softly asked.

Sherlock shook his head, angrily pulling away.

"Alright," Mycroft sighed, "I'm going to turn in."

Sherlock didn't answer and instead drew his knees to his chest.

"Sherl…"

"Goodnight."

Mycroft sighed and entered his own bedroom. He hesitated before grabbing every single pillow and blanket. He carried them into the nursery and threw them onto the floor. Sherlock barely glanced up. Mycroft returned to his room and gingerly took a fragile record from the bookshelf. He went back into the nursery and proceeded to set up a fort.

After several minutes, he sharply commanded, "Move. I need your blanket."

Sherlock did so. By now, his eyes were blazing with curiosity and excitement.

Mycroft finally straightened up and cried, "There! What do you think?"

Sherlock grinned but mumbled, "It's still not the greatest fort in the universe."

"Everyone's a critic," Mycroft growled with a smile.

He carefully placed the record onto the player and The Beatles filled the room.

_When I find myself in times of trouble_

_Mother Mary comes to me_

_Speaking words of wisdom: let it be_

This time, when Mycroft put his arm around his brother's shoulders, Sherlock leaned against him and whispered, "Remember when we saved the Beatles from the Weeping Angels?"

"Yeah," Mycroft warmly said, "And they performed in the Tardis."

"And then they came to Parents Day," Sherlock excitedly said, "I still have the trophy."

The brothers quieted, silently listening to the record.

"Are you getting a cold?" Sherlock abruptly asked, "You keep sniffing?"

"I'm fine," Mycroft hastily said, "It's just…I can't believe…I just didn't expect Father to move on. And I certainly didn't expect him to date somebody as horrible as that woman."

Sherlock looked thoughtful as he said, "You shouldn't be wondering why Father is dating Lucy. You should be wondering how Mummy ever dated him."

"Sherlock, that's mean," Mycroft reprimanded.

"The Doctor would never send us to bed early," Sherlock glumly said, "And he would never let anyone like Lucy into the Tardis."

The door suddenly flew open and Lucy entered.

"Don't touch anything!" Sherlock immediately said.

Lucy exasperatedly threw her hands up and snapped, "I was just going to ask you to turn that record off."

"Why?" Sherlock hotly asked.

"I hate the Beatles."

Sherlock stared at her, completely speechless.

"Well, that's…" Mycroft started before muttering, "That's just perfect."

() () ()

"WHERE'S MUMMY?"

Mycroft's eyes flew open and he ended up tumbling out of his bed. He leapt up, still tangled in his blankets, and drowsily entered the corridor.

Mr. Holmes, Lucy, and Sherlock were furiously glaring at one another.

"What's going on?" Mycroft asked, alarmed.

"Mummy's gone," Sherlock growled.

Mycroft couldn't help it—he flinched. Sherlock noticed and surprisingly softened before rewording his statement, "The _photograph_ of Mummy is gone."

He pointed to the decorative table and Mycroft realized that he was right. There should have been a photograph of Mrs. Holmes next to the vase of roses.

"W…where is it?" Mycroft asked, "Where's the photograph?"

"I put it in the attic," Mr. Holmes reluctantly admitted.

"You told me that you had gotten rid of it!" Lucy snapped.

"I was going to," Mr. Holmes explained, "But I thought that they might want it."

"Of course we would want it!" Sherlock cried.

"You were going to get rid of it?" Mycroft simultaneously asked.

"She's our mother!" Sherlock roared.

"Was."

Sherlock looked as though he had been slapped by Lucy's cold remark. Mycroft reeled back, completely stung, before murmuring, "Come along, Sherlock. Let's…let's go to school."

"But we're in our pyjamas!"

"Come along."

"It's Sunday!"

"Come _along_."

Sherlock reluctantly followed his brother downstairs and outside. With nowhere else to go, they crossed the street and entered the park.

"You alright?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft gave a start and asked, "You're asking me if I'm alright?"

"You look…upset," Sherlock lamely said.

"I _am_ upset," Mycroft tightly replied.

"It's been a horrible month," Sherlock bitterly said.

"That's an understatement," Mycroft admitted.

"I can't take much more of this, Mycroft!" Sherlock burst out, "I hate this! I hate her!"

"Really?" Mycroft wryly asked, "Because I'm having the time of my life."

Sherlock gave him such a horrified look that Mycroft quickly said, "I was joking!"

Sherlock sighed with relief and Mycroft continued, "Look…we're not going to be able to change Father's mind…we've tried and it hasn't worked. We just need to wait out the storm."

"Do we have to wait it out here?" Sherlock asked, looking rather embarrassed, "My pyjamas have bloody bears on them!"

"They're cute," Mycroft teased.

"No, they're not!" Sherlock cried, bright red.

"I'm rather jealous."

"Stop it!"

"I wish that I had pyjamas with bears on them!"

"You would!"

The moment of happiness was short-lived as they stumbled upon a familiar clearing.

Sherlock closed his eyes as dozens of memories resurfaced.

"I miss you, Doctor," Sherlock sadly whispered, "You'd know what to do."

() () ()

One week later, Mycroft found himself struggling to carry the groceries down the street.

"'lo, Mycroft."

The groceries tumbled to the ground as Mycroft clamped a hand over his mouth. He glanced around before realizing that the greeting came from the nearby dumpster. Mycroft quickly raced over, heaved himself up, and saw that Sherlock was sitting in a pile of garbage.

"Sherlock," Mycroft hissed, "What are you doing in there?"

"Lucifer threw away my stuffed bear and wooden sword," Sherlock whined.

"What?" Mycroft gasped.

"Help me find them!" Sherlock pleaded, "Please!"

"S…Sherlock," Mycroft exasperatedly cried, "I'm not going to jump into a dumpster!"

"Please!"

Mycroft sighed, braced himself, and jumped in.

The eldest Holmes brother gagged before saying, "Why did Lucy—"

"Lucifer," Sherlock calmly interjected, "It's a rather good nickname, don't you think?"

"—throw them out?"

"Because she's the devil?" Sherlock shrugged, "I dunno!"

"How do you know that she threw them in this dumpster?"

"It has to be this one," Sherlock promptly said, "There were only three options and I've already narrowed down the first two."

Mycroft felt his lunch churn and he snapped, "You are taking a bath as soon as you get home. Make it two. Three for good measure."

"Fine," Sherlock huffed, "Just as long as I find my toys."

They rifled through the garbage for a quarter of an hour. Finally, Sherlock let out a small squeal of delight as pulled out his stuffed bear. He didn't hesitate as he tightly hugged it.

"Ugh," Mycroft retched.

Sherlock glanced over and flushed.

"Don't get me wrong," Mycroft choked, "I think it's sweet that you're hardware allows you to show some emotion—"

Sherlock frowned at the joke.

"—but at least let me wash it."

"Fine," Sherlock begrudgingly said, handing it over.

He then happily pulled out his wooden sword.

"I'll wash that as well," Mycroft promptly said, yanking it away from him, "Come on."

He agonizingly heaved himself over the edge, landing on the ground with a rather hard thud. Sherlock pounced down next to him, smooth and alert.

"Show-off," Mycroft snickered.

"Always," Sherlock proudly said before mumbling, "Thanks for…you know…helping me…sort the rubbish."

"If I hadn't, you'd be sorting until midnight," Mycroft pointed out.

He collected the groceries sand they entered the house.

"Off to your bath," Mycroft gently ordered, "And wash behind your bloody ears."

"You wash behind your bloody ears," Sherlock muttered.

Mycroft chuckled and tenderly placed the stuffed bear into the washing machine. He then scrubbed the wooden sword until it was sterile enough for a hospital. By the time Sherlock came back down—his ears still filthy—Mr. Holmes and Lucy had returned.

"What's for dinner?" Sherlock curiously asked.

"Meatloaf," Lucy curtly said.

"Did you make it?"

"Yes."

"I don't like meatloaf," Sherlock haughtily said.

"Behave," Mycroft whispered.

Sherlock merely pouted and Mycroft whispered, "We'll nick some biscuits later."

Sherlock brightened and whispered, "Promise?"

"If you behave," Mycroft said with a smile.

Sherlock groaned but begrudgingly said, "I will if she does."

"_She_ doesn't get any biscuits if she behaves," Mycroft replied, causing Sherlock to grin.

The brothers entered the dining room. Lucy went to fetch the dinner, giving Mr. Holmes the opportunity to say, "Boys, I need your opinion on something.'

He pulled a box from his pocket and gingerly opened it. The brothers stared at a large, 2-carat, diamond ring.

"Bloody hell," Mycroft whispered, his heart sinking into his stomach.

"What do you think?"

"You're…you're going to propose?" Mycroft squeaked.

"What do you think?" Mr. Holmes repeated.

"Tacky and expensive," Sherlock coolly replied, "She'll love it."

Before Mr. Holmes could reply, they heard an angry shout. Mr. Holmes quickly hid the box as Lucy stomped in, holding the stuffed bear at an arm's length.

"Just what was this doing in the wash?"

"It needed to be washed," Mycroft replied.

"Don't talk back," Mr. Holmes barked.

"I'm _not_!" Mycroft cried, "Honest! I'm just saying…it needed to be washed. It was covered in rubbish and other…unmentionables."

"What?" Mr. Holmes spluttered, "What are you talking about?"

"It was in the dumpster," Sherlock casually said, "I'll be taking it back now."

"Of course it was," Lucy snapped, "It belonged there. It was rubbish."

"It was a toy," Mr. Holmes agreed, "I've been trying to rid of it for a year."

Sherlock stood and slowly said, "Give me the bear. Please."

He uttered the last part as a formality, though it pained him to do so.

"No."

"Just give him the bear," Mycroft softly added, "It means a lot to him."

Lucy scoffed and Sherlock burst out, "Oh, you of all people shouldn't judge somebody for their attachment to an object. Hair, nails, jewelry, makeup, clothes…all designer…very rich…very pretentious. The thing is…if you chip a precious nail, you can go to the nearest salon and have it fixed. That bear cannot be found in a single shop on this planet."

"Sherlock, perhaps you should stop talking now?" Mycroft suggested.

Sherlock completely ignored him and furiously continued, "I got it from the largest toy store in the universe. It's from the Doctor! And you have no right to take it. Give it here. NOW!"

Even Mycroft flinched at his brother's furious demand.

"The Doctor?" Lucy stammered, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Just…please…" Mycroft intervened, "Give him the bear."

"I don't think so," Lucy coolly said, "You both need to mind your tones."

"I've been telling them that for years!" Mr. Holmes barked.

"Give me the bear!" Sherlock shrieked, grabbing the stuffed bear's leg.

Lucy tugged and, in the heat of the moment, Sherlock stomped on her foot. Lucy retaliated by slapping him. Mycroft's outraged scream was only drowned out by a ripping sound as Sherlock stumbled backwards. Mycroft quickly caught him.

"You okay?" Mycroft urgently asked, "Sherlock, are you alright?"

Sherlock was rapidly blinking as he stared at the leg in his hand. Bits of stuffing tumbled to the ground. The youngest Holmes brother swallowed and licked his lips, seemingly unaware of the red mark on his cheek. He eventually touched it and began to tremble.

"Ssh," Mycroft soothingly whispered, "Sssh…it's okay…"

Mycroft realized that he too was shaking, though out of anger and not fear.

"It's…ripped," Sherlock managed.

"I'll sew it," Mycroft said, surprised that his voice was so calm, "I'll…I'll figure out how to sew and I'll…I'll fix it. Alright?"

Sherlock nodded, too upset to speak.

"Come on," Mycroft gently said, "Sit down. Please, don't…don't cry. Don't."

"I'm not crying," Sherlock squeaked, wiping his eyes, "Can you really fix it?"

"Of course," Mycroft promised, "Err…somehow. Are you alright?"

He didn't answer.

"Sherlock, please…talk to me…"

"Shut up," Sherlock suddenly whispered.

Mycroft gave a start and asked, "Me?"

"Yes. Be quiet."

"Sherlock, I'm trying to help!"

"Sssh," Sherlock excitedly whispered, "Do you hear that?"

And Mycroft did.

He heard a wonderful sound. One that he hadn't heard in quite some time.

Both brothers watched with awe and anticipation as a blue police box managed to squeeze itself into the corner of the dining room. Mycroft didn't realize that he had excitedly grabbed his brother's shoulder. Sherlock didn't realize that he had cried out with euphoria. Neither one realized that Mr. Holmes had gone purple or that Lucy had begun to scream.

"Doctor," Mycroft croaked.

"Doctor," Sherlock whispered.

The door opened. Jack, River, and the Doctor stepped out.

"Your first mistake was hitting Sherlock," Jack furiously said.

"Your second mistake was ripping the bear," River growled.

"And your final mistake," the Doctor quietly finished, "Was thinking that you could get away with it."

"Doctor!"

Sherlock jumped right onto the table, using it as a springboard to leap into the Doctor's arms. The Time Lord laughed, pleasantly surprised, before returning the tight hug.

Mycroft raced forward and hugged the Doctor with enough force to send all three of them back into the Tardis. River and Jack chuckled, helping them up.

The Doctor beamed and asked, "Miss me?"

They didn't answer, and instead tightened their hugs. They finally pulled back, only for Jack to pull them into a crushing hug of his own. When he let go, they turned to River.

"Well, I'm not hugging you," River remarked, her arms crossed.

"Well," Sherlock shortly said, "I'm not hugging you either."

"That's fine by me," River replied.

"Good."

"Fine."

The two glared at each other for a moment. River finally laughed and warmly pulled the brothers into a hug. They happily returned it.

When they backed away, the Doctor worriedly said, "Let me see that cheek, Sherlock."

He bent down and began to fuss. Sherlock couldn't seem to stop shaking, though he smiled with genuine relief at the Time Lord before him. The Doctor rested his forehead against Sherlock's and gently said, "I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I should have gotten here sooner."

"It's not your fault," Sherlock whispered, shocked by the thought.

The Doctor gently placed his hand against Sherlock's cheek. A small burst of golden light swirled around them, causing the red mark to vanish. Sherlock didn't say anything but instead threw his arms around the Doctor's neck. The Doctor rested his chin on top the youngest Holmes brother's head as he pulled him right off of his feet. He extended his other arm and pulled Mycroft into a tight second hug.

"Who the hell are you?" Lucy angrily shrieked, "Where did you come from? What are you doing here? What's going on?"

"I'm the Doctor," the Doctor quietly replied, "I came from the planet Gallifrey in the Constellation of Kasterborous and I'm here to put a stop to your…err…"

"Bitchiness?" River offered.

"River, please," the Doctor mumbled, looking genuinely embarrassed, "I was _going_ to say 'evil reign of terror'."

"Because that's so much better," Jack snorted.

"I knew it," Mycroft promptly said, "She's an alien, isn't she?"

"That's why she's completely heartless?" Sherlock asked.

"No," the Doctor chuckled, "She isn't an alien."

"Good theory, though," Jack kindly added, ruffling his curls.

"Then, why are you here?" Sherlock curiously asked.

The Doctor gave him an amused smile and asked, "Do you want me to leave?"

Sherlock tightly clung onto neck and cried, "No! Please, don't go! Don't leave."

The youngest Holmes brother flushed at his outburst but the Doctor's kind smile caused the embarrassment to diminish.

"I'm not going to leave you," the Doctor whispered, "I promise."

The Doctor tightly held the brothers for several minutes. Sherlock eventually stopped shaking and contentedly leaned against the Time Lord's chest, a wide smile on his face. Mycroft closed his eyes, completely at ease. Nothing else seemed to matter. Not Lucy nor Mr. Holmes nor the rest of the universe. Because the Doctor was back. He was back and he was hugging them and he wasn't going to leave. And that made all the difference in the universe.

"Sweetie," River cheerfully interrupted, "Can I blast them now?"

The Doctor looked towards Lucy and Mr. Holmes and said, "I should let her. I should let her show you the pain that you've caused these boys."

His eyes briefly flashed with a cold fury. Mycroft shivered and the Doctor held him closer before continuing, "However, I'm not here to cause you pain."

"I am," River happily interjected.

"I'm here to stop their pain," the Doctor finished.

"What kind of person hits a child?" Jack angrily asked.

"A monster," River growled.

Mr. Holmes' jaw dropped and he cried, "You were just threatening to blast us! You _have_ blasted me before!"

"You know these freaks?" Lucy shrieked.

"I blasted you because you leapt towards Mycroft," River furiously pointed out.

"And I believe that, at the time," the Doctor quietly said, "I warned you to _never_ touch these boys. Did I not?"

"I didn't!"

"You let her hit Sherlock," the Doctor angrily said, "That's enough. That's enough to count and that's enough to make you a horrid father. Well, that's the icing on the cake."

He dangerously towered over Mr. Holmes, still holding onto the brothers.

"And I suppose that you know what it takes to be a _good_ father?" Lucy hotly asked.

"Yes, he does," Mycroft spoke up, "Whereas Father is heartless, the Doctor has two hearts. And that makes the difference, you see. It takes two hearts."

Sherlock beamed and warmly added, "And a home that's bigger on the inside."

He snapped his fingers and the Tardis doors flew open. Lucy's jaw dropped as she viewed the inside of the Tardis. Mycroft stepped inside and the group followed. The brothers appreciatively glanced around.

"What…what is this…?" Lucy gasped, "What…?"

She immediately backed out and the door slammed in her face.

"Jack," the Doctor amusedly said.

"Don't look at me," Jack snickered, "She did it."

He was referring to the actual Tardis.

"Sherlock," the Doctor gently said, "I need to talk to Mycroft for a moment."

Sherlock hesitantly got down and the Doctor assuredly continued, "We're just going to be in the next room. I promise."

"Alright," Sherlock hesitantly said, taking a side-step towards Jack. He realized the lack of subtlety in the gesture and flushed. Jack smiled and kindly put an arm around his shoulders.

Mycroft curiously followed the Doctor down the corridor and into the library. He longingly glanced around before muttering, "Doctor…"

"Hang on," the Time Lord interjected, "Before you say anything…this is not your fault."

Mycroft swallowed and the Doctor gently repeated, "This is not your fault."

"I never said…" Mycroft started.

The Doctor chuckled and warmly said, "Mycroft, I can see right through you! I know that you're blaming yourself for what Lucy did to Sherlock."

Mycroft didn't deny it and instead asked, "How did you know…that she…?"

"Mycroft," the Doctor laughed, "Did you honestly think that we were going to leave you with someone like your Father, without keeping a good eye on you? We've been watching over you all year. And I am so proud of you."

Mycroft smiled and asked, "Really?"

"Of course," the Doctor gushed, "You've spent the year protecting your brother. You've spent _nine_ years protecting your brother."

"But Lucy still hit him," Mycroft croaked, "And I didn't stop her…"

"You didn't know what was going to happen," the Doctor gently said, "There was no way that you could have known. And when it happened, you did your best to reassure and protect Sherlock. You did everything that you needed to do."

"I can't remember the last time that he's been that shaken," Mycroft sadly murmured before adding, "Then again…I can't remember the last time that he's been that relieved."

The Doctor beamed, thinking of the looks on the boys' faces.

"Doctor, I didn't want to leave!" Mycroft burst out.

"I know that," the Doctor assuredly said, "I've always known."

He pulled Mycroft into a tight hug and said, "Hey…it's okay."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Thanks, Doctor," Mycroft whispered.

"Mycroft Holmes," the Doctor amusedly said, "You _never_ have to thank me!"

Mycroft grinned and the Doctor returned it before saying, "Come along!"

They went out into the console room and were rather amused to see that Mr. Holmes was pressed against the wall. His eyes darted about and he kept nervously adjusting his stiff tie.

"What do you think, Father?" Sherlock smugly asked.

Mr. Holmes pulled himself from the wall and spluttered, "You would rather be with these…these…them?"

Mycroft smirked and wryly said, "You mean the twelve hundred year old alien, his trigger-happy wife, and his immortal, perverted, friend?"

"Yes!"

The brothers glanced at one another before simultaneously saying, "Every time."

"Why?" Mr. Holmes burst out, "I mean what…what's wrong with you?"

"Oi," Jack angrily cried.

"There is nothing wrong with them," River growled.

The Doctor poked Mr. Holmes and asked, "What's wrong with _you_?"

"And that would be why," Sherlock appreciatively said.

"Because they actually love us and support us," Mycroft pointed out, "Which is a hell of a lot more than you've done in the past few years."

Mr. Holmes stared at him for a moment before abruptly grabbing the Doctor's elbow and steering him to the nearest corner.

"You," Mr. Holmes coldly said, "I don't understand you and I have no intentions of doing so. I don't know who you are. I don't know what you are. I don't know what this box is or where it goes. I don't know why those boys love you…but they do."

The Doctor glanced over his shoulder, warmly staring at the brothers as they played with Jack and River. The immortal man was giving Sherlock a piggy-back ride around the console room. His wife was playfully trying to blast an amused Mycroft, deliberately missing.

"And you love them," Mr. Holmes added.

The Doctor smiled and nodded.

Mr. Holmes remained stone-faced as he turned to Jack and barked, "You!"

Jack paused, quite surprised. Sherlock swallowed and hopped down.

"Judge indeed!" Mr. Holmes scoffed, "But the last time I checked, you made this bloke the unofficial legal guardian for Sherlock and Mycroft. And I'll be damned if I'm going to break an official…unofficial…legality from an official…unofficial…judge…"

"Judge Captain," Jack corrected, almost teasingly.

Mr. Holmes adjusted his stiff tie and continued, "So…yes…well…"

By now, everybody was staring at him.

River crossed her arms and wryly remarked, "Well, I see where Sherlock and Mycroft get their talkative personality."

"What _are_ you trying to say?" Mycroft cautiously asked his father.

Mr. Holmes was practically tugging on his tie as he explained, "You're happy. You're happy here. And I know that your mother…well…she would be so happy to see that you're happy. And she…she always understood you. And she's always loved you. Not that I don't…I just don't understand…I don't get…but he does."

"Are you following this?" Jack confusedly asked the Doctor.

The Time Lord looked excited as he replied, "I think so."

"Father," Mycroft whispered, "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Just don't come back with two heads," Mr. Holmes burst out, "I swear, I'll sue!"

The Doctor let out such an enthusiastic cry that the walls of the Tardis shook.

"W…what does that mean?" Sherlock asked, "Wait…hang on…did Father just give us permission to go on an adventure with the Doctor!?"

"No," Mr. Holmes quietly said, "I'm giving you permission to live with the Doctor."

Sherlock was silent as he processed the information.

When he finally did, he excitedly screamed, "OH!"

The Doctor laughed and pulled both brothers into a tight hug. They were euphoric beyond words as they returned it.

The Time Lord finally straightened up and Mr. Holmes extended his hand. Instead of accepting it, the Doctor pulled him into a spine-crushing hug of his own.

"Err…" Mr. Holmes grunted, "That's quite alright! Let go!"

The Doctor did so, grinning from ear to ear. He still clapped Mr. Holmes on the shoulder and boomed, "Can I give you some advice, sir? Your fiancé…soon to be fiancé…she is truly a horrible woman. I mean, she hit your bloody son!"

Mr. Holmes' eyes flickered towards the door and he muttered, "She really is, isn't she?"

"Look, mate," Jack bracingly said, "Even I wouldn't go near her."

"And that's saying something," River added.

"I know that you don't want my help," the Doctor softly said, "But…the infinite void is always an option! And quite a justifiable one, might I add."

Mycroft and Sherlock snickered.

Mr. Holmes swallowed before saying, "What if your wife just covers me when I break up with her? That way I won't get hurt."

"I can't make any promises that I won't hurt you," River said with a smirk, "But you have my word that she won't."

"Err…thank you?"

"I've gotta see this," Jack grinned, following the two outside.

The brothers braced themselves as the Doctor pulled them into another tight hug.

The Time Lord beamed and whispered, "Welcome home."


End file.
